


amen

by Elfomanka



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author Is Sleep Deprived, M/M, Not Beta Read, what the fuck English is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfomanka/pseuds/Elfomanka
Summary: Molly.The most terrible secret, sorcerer, saved from the fire; the sword of Damocles over Caleb's head.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	amen

**Author's Note:**

> OH BOY THIS ENGLISH CAN BE REALLY BAD
> 
> For my Russian speaking comrades there is a Russian language version in which I am more confident: https://ficbook.net/readfic/9013235

Caleb lowers his sword and silently sheaths it, while a young boy with bloody spots all over the armor is dragged away - into the doctor’s chambers or immediately onto the corpse room.

Father Trent nods contentedly and pats Caleb on the shoulder, peering into his face.

“As I thought, you grew up as a wonderful Inquisitor, Bren. You always had something to offer the church."

The truth is that Caleb has nothing to offer the church - nothing but death, blood and ashes under his feet.

Hell is near. Fire licks the heels of Caleb's boots, and all he can is to hide from it for a while - behind faith, behind the steel collar around his neck, behind his devotion to the church and exhausting trainings from dawn to dusk.

“Don't call me by my birth name,” he says quietly, avoiding the gaze of the teacher. “You expected to meet me Grand, right? Are you disappointed?"

“No, not at all," father Trent smiles, almost sincerely, with just a little tense. "I see you were entrusted with training novices? This is an equally important task, I should say."

“Why are you here, Father?” Caleb interrupts him completely disrespectfully and finally looks up - only to lower his gaze again under the gaze of Trent's piercing eyes. "I could've come to you myself, this was not necessary."

“We’ll talk about business tomorrow, Bren,” father Trent examines him from head to toe, paying particular attention to the cross chain that goes under the armor — unlike other Inquisitors, Caleb never liked to flaunt the sacred sign. "Today you are too exhausted, go home and take a rest."

“As you say, Father.”

“Bren,” father Trent says, when Caleb intends to close the door behind himself, “they said you don't hold servants or squires. What is the reason for such dedication?"

Caleb shrugs.

"I don't like strangers in the house."

Their glances clash - tired pale blue and piercing gray - but after a second Trent already smiles, squinting his eyes.

“We respect your penance, Bren. Still, choose yourself a squire in a short time."

Caleb nods and goes away, feeling Trent's look on his back.

Caleb puts up his armor in the church's armory and goes out into the street wearing only light chain mail under his usual clothes. He is not afraid of night creatures, and they, as if could sense it, crawl in other ways tonight.

The city dies out after sunset - the windows are closed, the light is turned off or cannot break through the solid oak shutters, streets are empty - except for a lonely drunkard, who stayed in a tavern for too late and most likely will be found in the ditch with a torn throat in the morning, and the church patrol which quietly makes its way in the lane, evoking memories of the first years service inside Caleb.

"No one came?" he immediately asks the disheveled sleepy Molly, who came out to the noise of the opened door.

“Only that sectarian girl,” he answers. He puts the candle on the shelf and helps Caleb take off his coat, almost accidentally touching his skin in the process. “We chatted nicely. She knows how not to get caught by your patrols and all that stuff, can you imagine?"

“Why didn't you leave with her then?” Caleb asks.

Molly - bird in a cage - throws up his hands, touching the walls of a narrow corridor with his fingertips.

"Already driving me out?" Molly asks, pretending to be sad but smiling with the corner of his lips.

Caleb looks away and shakes his head silently. And then shudders when he sees Molly sink to the floor at his feet.

“Do you want me to stay forever?” Molly asks, cupping the back of his head under Caleb's palm.

I have nothing to offer you but myself, Caleb thinks, passing his fingers through the soft purple curls, but nothing is left of me.

“I have nothing to offer you,” he says indifferently, pulling his fingers out of Molly’s hair and turning away to unravel the lacing on his bracers.

“But I have something,” Molly grins, yanking him by his hand. Caleb dutifully yields, watching dexterous fingers cope with his lacing system. Molly breathes softly, peering intently at the knots. After a minute, the bracers fall to the floor with a quiet ringing.

Molly looks from under half-closed eyelids, taking his time to let go of Caleb's wrists.

When a dexterous hot tongue runs through the scars, Caleb shivers, groans through gritted teeth, either praying to himself, or blaspheming, remembering the intersection of God, Molly and the nine circles of hell. His lips dry out at once, and Caleb looks at Molly's bowed head with admiration and supplication he could never express. Molly, as if sensing this, raises a darkened look and pulls Caleb closer, falling to his throat with soft lips.

“Your heart beats so tasty,” Molly whispers.

A bard without glory, an unscrupulous liar, a mediocre fortune teller. Beautiful - ah, beautiful lover.

Due to the cuff of the sleeve, a card drops out, flashing gold-embossed under the candlelight.

Caleb picks it up.

“He again?” - Molly asks cheerfully. He takes out the Death from Caleb's fingers, smiling with it's lipless mouth, and carefully hides it in his breast pocket. “He still cannot catch you, poor thing.”

Better if it'll catch me, than you, Caleb thinks, looking at the scars on his chest. Molly, as if sensing a glance, looks up and smiles affectionately. For a second, the candle’s flame flutters, and Caleb sees a shadow from the horns, a toothy grin, and blood-red eyes. He blinks bewilderedly and shakes his head. Molly peers into his face in alarm for a second, than takes his hand and leads upstairs to the bedroom.

Molly.

The most terrible secret, sorcerer, saved from the fire; the sword of Damocles over Caleb's head.

Caleb is dizzy, as if from tart red wine.

“He doesn't have to run after you for long,” Molly says, without looking back. Caleb forbids himself to hear hope in his voice. Caleb forbids himself to look at him. “And when he'll catches up with you, then we'll talk.”

“You say strange things today,” Caleb almost whispers, falling onto a soft bed. He closes his eyes to not see Molly descending on his hips from above, but it only turns out worse - the body, trained over the years of study, begins to perceive what is happening with the help of skin, catching every rustle, every movement of the lips on Caleb's belly.

“You have no idea about how beautiful you are,” Molly whispers. Caleb gasps, crumpling a sheet in his fingers, leaning his hips toward the movements of Molly's hand. “Come with me, Caleb. Come on. You are too good for them".

Caleb pulls Molly closer to him and kisses - and opens his eyes, hearing an impatient knock on the front door.

And immediately tries to pull away.

“They know everything, Caleb,” Molly says, leaning back. Now Caleb sees, oh, he sees everything - horns, and purple skin, and razor-sharp fangs, gleaming moistly in the candlelight.

He is handsome. He is so beautiful - more beautiful than Jesus in the icons, better than all the saints combined.

Caleb hears the crack of a breaking door and the impatient voice of father Trent.

“Come with me, darling,” Molly whispers, kissing the back of Caleb's hand with closed lips. Caleb sighs frantically, looking at the fresh red burn blooming on the skin. "Do not hide your eyes, stop running away. Look at me."

Caleb looks at him, and with all his skin feels the door below swinging open. He hears the clatter of grounded boots on the stairs.

Molly smiles and draws a card from his sleeve.


End file.
